


D6: Calm

by PuzzledHats



Series: AxG Week 2013 [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzledHats/pseuds/PuzzledHats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought of her old words: Calm as still water</p>
            </blockquote>





	D6: Calm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing with in a possible canon universe. I've always avoided it for two reasons: The first being that I am not GRRM and I could never do justice to his voice. 
> 
> The second, if I am really honest with myself, is it's hard to imagine a canon happy ending for Arya and Gendry. As much as I want those two crazy kids to find solace in the other, knowing GRRM they will both end up dead. 
> 
> On that happy note, read on!

He glanced briefly at the now cold forge, wondering if he would ever feel the need to stoke the fires again. But he couldn't dwell on that, instead he focused on breathing. 

_In, out. In, out._

The noise from outside the forge was loud; screaming, hollering, laughing. It had all turned in to a low, dull roar. Gendry distantly wondered how many people would beg off working the following day due to headaches. After all, the ale was flowing freely.

He didn't hear her enter, too lost in his own thoughts.

"I lied to you about Hoat, so that you would come with me when I fled Harrenhal."

He turned at the sound of her voice, taking in the new cloak around her shoulders, the freshly sown dress she wore.

"You admit the Goat wouldn't have chopped off my hands or feet?" He asked, no inflection in his voice.

"No," she said, stepping foreword. "I admit to only wanting you with me when I left."

"Right," he concluded, remembering what she had said so long ago. “Your pack.”

"No, not just my pack, my family, my home," she said, almost touching him, her arms reached out, ready to grab hold.

He said nothing keeping his eyes on her feet, not daring to look at her.

_In, out. In, out._

She huffed, annoyed.

"I have work to be getting on with," he finally said, not wishing to endure the silence anymore.

"Of course, it's the middle of the night and your fire is ice cold," she said, not bothering to hide the disdain. "But you have work."

They both sighed, at what felt like the same time. He was calm, while her anger was spilling over. He decided the truth was preferable to her unleashing on him.

"I'm a bastard blacksmith, milady," he said, sadly. " All I have is my work."

She said nothing, just she stared at him.

"Arya?" Came a voice from the doorway, soft and understanding. They both turned to see Jon there, assessing the situation in front of him. "They've called for the bedding. Everyone is looking for you."

Neither Gendry nor Arya said anything, they both just stood, staring at Jon. Their faces were masks, neither showing any emotion.

"I'll be outside, when you're ready," Jon said finally, disappearing from the door.

Arya turned to follow Jon, Gendry's hand on her arm stopping her progress.

"You didn’t have to lie to me about Hoat," he whispered. "I would have gone wherever you told me to go."

"And now?"

"Not following you is a mistake I'll only ever make once."

_In, out. In, out._

Somebody hollered outside, breaking them out of their trance. Then she was gone, leaving Gendry alone in the cold forge.

He moved to the back room, the place he had been calling home for the last year. Packing up was easy, he owned so little. When he reached the stables Jon was waiting for him, a horse already saddled.

“I don’t blame you,” Jon said, handing over the reigns. “But do you think she’ll be happy without you?

Gendry only shrugged, tying his saddle bags before moving to mount the horse. If he started to think about her happiness or his, he would lose it all, his resolve, his acceptance. He would lose the comfort of the still calm he had wrapped himself in to survive.

“Where will you go?” Jon asked.

“Wherever I don’t have to see another man with the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he said, turning the horse around, leaving Winterfell without a backwards glance.

He found work in White Harbor, mending and rebuilding what the war had torn down. He refused the advances of other women, wallowing in the dreams of another woman’s arms. He was praised for his work as a blacksmith, but felt no pride in it. Sometimes, when he beat a steady rhythm against the steel, listening to it sing sweetly, he would wonder if he would ever feel again.

Word of Edric Dayne’s death reached White Harbor mere days after it occurred. He had been taken with greyscale, leaving Arya Stark a widow, alone and childless. The speculation had already begun as to who her family would marry her off to next.

He dreamed of her the night he heard the news. More vivid than ever before.

It must be a dream though, the small insistent hands moving over his body. The slight pressure of lips on his cheek, his neck.  The feel of someone sitting astride him, slowly  grinding into him. The cool air hitting his chest as he felt the blankets fall from his body. All a dream, a dream of what he wanted but could never have.

“Wake up, you stupid bull,” said a voice in his ear, entirely too loud for what must be the middle of the night.

His eyes shot open, quickly adjusting to the light the lone candle on the bedside table gave off.

“Arya?” He asked, not believing his own senses. 

“Who else would it be?” She asked in a return, a slight smile on her face. 

He grabbed her, crushing his lips against hers; flipping her underneath him. His hands roamed over her entire body, both battling to touch the other as much as possible. Wanting to make sure it was real; that they were together.

He did not tell her he was sorry about the death of her husband. Because he wasn’t.

They both worked quickly to undress each other, wanting the reality of skin on skin. He savored the moment when he entered her, enjoying every last push, but once fully ensconced he lost all control; gave up all semblance of the calmness he had been holding on to so tightly since the day she married another man.

It wasn’t a time for love making but for raw friction between two people who never thought they would see each other again. He thought maybe he might be too rough. But this was Arya, who gladly met each of his thrusts. They didn’t try to temper their voices, giving in to all their urges until they both came screaming the other’s name.

He knew he should move, he knew how heavy he must be on her tiny frame. But he could not bring himself to pull out of her, relishing the feeling of being connected with her in some small way after all this time.

“I can’t go back. I can’t do it again,” she whispered in his ear, her arms and legs tightening around him. He couldn’t have pulled away if he tried. 

“Don’t go back. Just don’t leave me behind,” he said.

 

The rumors about the disappearance of Arya Stark never did seem to die down. There were tales of her succumbing to greyscale. Tales of her traveling around Westeros, righting wrongs. Tales of a girl with grey eyes leading the largest wolf pack in existence with the help of a direwolf. But Jon only ever took one tale to heart. The one where Cat of the Canals returned to Bravos, accompanied by a Bull.


End file.
